Throw Down
by Chrysaellis
Summary: An independent young woman returns to her birthplace, hoping to make up for lost time. Her life collides with that of a bitter wolf who hates every facet of his new existence, including her. Determined to maintain control over their own free will, they each put up the fight of their lives, refusing to let magic bind them.
1. Every Traveller Has a Home

**CHAPTER ONE**

"_Every traveller has a home of his own, and he learns to appreciate it the more from his wandering." - Charles Dickens_

* * *

Sadness was merely a remnant of happiness, anger a manifestation of passion, and grief the remains of love. If you could learn to embrace your sadness and your anger and your grief, then you'd be able find your way back to the heart that first led you there. These were the words of a wise, loving mother that got a young girl through trying times, and stayed with her well into adulthood. Everyone thought that it was grief that drove the Black girls away. That was perhaps true, in part, but they had deeper reasons than that which the rest of the world claimed to know.

For Rebecca, it was really guilt that had compelled her to leave. At the time of their mother's death, she had been a difficult child, caught up in the haze of teenage rebellion. She knew that, though no one ever said as much, she had been a disappointment to both parents and a black mark on her mother's legacy. Leaving had been her misguided attempt at returning peace to her loved ones at home. By the time she finally came to realise that her absence had made not a single thing better for her grief-stricken father, there was no turning back from having met a boy, fallen in love, and settled down far away from home.

Unlike her twin, Rachel didn't leave the reservation to escape the memory of her lost mother. Bonding over their frustration with Rebecca had brought her and her mother closer than ever in the months prior to the fatal accident that had taken Sarah's life. And in that precious space of time that she now cherished, Rachel had gained invaluable insight into her mother's early life and the person she had been outside of motherhood. What she learned then helped shape the woman that she would later become herself.

In the wake of Rebecca's departure, Rachel's had seemed like a double betrayal to their father and brother. But her motivations for leaving La Push couldn't have been more different. In fact, she had gone away with every intention of returning home eventually, but only once she felt that she had succeeded in bringing some honour to her mother's memory. College and independence were two things that Sarah had always wanted but never had. And so, fuelled by a burning desire to taste freedom for the both of them, Rachel left. In all her years away, spare time and holidays were spent travelling and exploring, seeing and tasting and experiencing new things that her mother would have loved to try in another lifetime.

The day of Rachel Black's return was all kinds of unspectacular. It was dull and overcast, as it was on most days, with the sky hanging overhead a gloomy sea of dark clouds. The waters at sea were choppy and unkind, inviting little hope of a leisurely swim. And the tranquillity of the forest line was broken by the distant howl of wolves. But all of this was undeniably familiar to her, and so she chose to believe that this was the ancient land's way of welcoming its long-lost daughter home.

When she pulled up outside her childhood home, Rachel saw that her father was right where she had left him six year ago, sitting outside on the porch he had built with his own hands as a young man, anxiously awaiting his daughter's arrival. The sight put a crack in her heart as she imagined him sitting there all these years, waiting. Just waiting. Without a moment's hesitation, Rachel ran up to embrace her father, who had a tear in his eye as he uttered his welcome.

"What took you so long?" Billy Black asked his eldest child as they pulled apart.

"Traffic in the city like you wouldn't believe," she explained, referring to the crawl of cars on the road that had kept her from getting out of Seattle in the amount of time that she had expected.

Her father simply smiled. That was not what he had meant.

The hours that followed were spent catching up. As they spoke, Rachel noticed the new lines that age had etched into her father's face, and Billy noticed the quiet confidence that had found its way into his daughter's voice. It was clear that both had evolved in different ways. They realised that hours would not suffice for them to get reacquainted with each other, for as much as they were still the same people on the inside, the time that had elapsed had added layers to their lives.

This couldn't have become more evident to Rachel when her little brother walked through the front door later that evening, no longer very little at all. Although she was of an average height for a girl, she was dwarfed by Jacob's stature as he came up to greet her, picking her up off the ground and engulfing her in a giant bear hug. He must have just come back from working out, because he was hot and sweaty and gross. Rachel complained. His response was to squeeze her more tightly against him, pressing her face into his shirt.

She gagged.

Billy laughed.

Jacob was as warm and jovial as he always was on phone calls, but there was a darkness in the back of his eye that was new. Rachel got the sense that something was not quite right, but she didn't want to push it, at least not on her very first night home; there would be time for the big-sisterly inquiry later. So instead, they talked and teased and ate and laughed, and though two members of the family remained missing from the dinner table, it still felt like home.

And home, after years away, was exactly where Rachel wanted to be.

: : : : :

It was a little later when it began to rain. It came as a soft light shower, not enough to penetrate the wolf's coarse dark grey outer coat, but just enough of a sprinkle to be irritating. It tickled his nose and made him sneeze. His brown comrade barked out a laugh from his assigned zone on the other edge of the woods. The grey wolf grunted as he stalked through the maze of trees, pissed about the fact that nothing was private these days. In an explicit show of retaliation, he flashed his friend a vivid, uncensored memory of his latest conquest. The other wolf expressed his disgust with a loud, hacking cough.

Wolf brains, when connected, formed a crude version of the Internet; it was useful for communication purposes, but it was also loaded with a cacophony useless shit. The grey wolf, whose name was Paul, was perpetually annoyed by this unfortunate side effect of open telepathy. He really didn't want to know the details of everyone else's lives, or share the specifics of his. He had no interest whatsoever in how beautiful Jared thought Kim was or how hard Quil found his math test or how excited Jacob was to have his sister coming home.

Not that he had any choice in the matter. It seemed like he really didn't have much of a choice in much of anything lately. Like serving the reservation as an un-aging, shape-shifting wolf boy, indefinitely. Like staying put in this little corner of the world, forever. As a matter of fact, his shoddy control over his wolf meant that he barely even got to decide when and where he turned into a giant carnivore. Add being under the supreme command of his alpha to the mix and that left him with a life that was hardly his to live anymore.

Paul missed his freedom sorely. He had never been truly aware of his possession of it until the day he lost it all in an explosion of fabric and fur. Before it happened, he had long been awaiting graduation in anticipation of finally becoming his own man. Now he was only half a man, and certainly not his own.

There was no sugar-coating it: his life sucked. And, unbeknownst to him, it was right on the verge of sucking even more.

As he drew close to the more populated part of his patrol area, the thick cloud of dinner smells overtook Paul's senses. He had already eaten just a while ago, but ever since he first became what he now was, he had found that his hunger was rarely sated. Passing by Billy Black's house, he picked up the delicious aroma of roast chicken. It mingled in the cool night air with an odd scent that he couldn't quite place. Peppermint? He thought he felt a tugging in his chest.

_Heartburn?_ Jared snorted.

Paul growled and trudged ahead, his dark form disappearing back into the shadows of the forest. Asshole.


	2. To Know Half the Secret

**CHAPTER TWO**

"_To know that one has a secret is to know half the secret itself." – Henry Ward Beecher_

* * *

Home was the same, yet startlingly different. The scent of pine still greeted her in the mornings when she woke. The roof still made a racket beneath the pitter-patter of rain. The old cabin was a bit of a mess, but the same embarrassing pictures still adorned the kitchen fridge, and her mother's paintings still hung proudly on the living room walls. The house was just as Rachel remembered, or at least as she expected.

The people, though, had changed. The elders had grown older, the kids now big and tall. And there was something about the community that didn't feel as familiar as it ought to. Almost everyone seemed more suspicious these days, watching each other's movements out of the corner of their eye. It was strange, and it did not help any that so many of Rachel's questions were consistently met with vague non-answers. Trying to get to know everyone again was proving to be harder than she anticipated.

It was Saturday, about a week since her return. Rachel had made plans to meet up with Leah, one of her closest friends growing up. They had started growing distant in high school, when a smitten young Leah, in love for the very first time, began having less and less time for her best friend. Rachel had felt abandoned at the time, but they remained on friendly terms, and after so many years, she really didn't care anymore. She was just looking forward to reconnecting with her old friend again. The last time she had heard from Leah was when she rang up announcing her engagement to Sam Uley. This was later called off, as Rachel had found out during a brief phone conversation with her father. Rachel had tried calling her then, but Leah hadn't wanted to talk to anyone.

After parking her white sedan outside the diner in Forks that they had picked as their meeting spot, Rachel headed inside. It was not particularly crowded that afternoon, not that it ever really was. Still, Rachel took a little longer than she should to pick Leah out. In her mind's eye, she was picturing her friend as she had last seen her, young and fresh-faced with bright eyes and braided hair. It took her a while to register the fact that the young woman waving at her from the table by the window was in fact the same girl from her memories.

"Leah!" Rachel exclaimed as she made her way over, giving her friend a warm hug before taking a seat across from her. "I almost didn't recognise you. Look at you, you sexy thing!" It was true. Leah had always been pretty, but she was drop-dead gorgeous now. Her cheekbones were more pronounced without all the baby fat, her heart-shaped face framed perfectly by short dark hair. She looked like a supermodel – exotic, tall, and toned.

But there was something else about her that was markedly different. Something about her eyes, Rachel thought. Just like Jacob.

Leah chuckled, her dimples peeking out for just a second before disappearing again. "I could say the same about you, hot stuff!" She wriggled her eyebrows teasingly as her hands drew an hourglass pattern in the air. "I have to say though, I kind of miss the glasses and braces. Nerd."

"Bitch."

"You know it," Leah said with the devilish grin that she had perfected in high school. "So, how've you been? I hear you've been up to some serious globe-trotting."

Over lunch, Rachel fielded all of Leah's questions about college, work, and backpacking. As she told her former best friend all about the last few years of her life, Rachel thought she saw a mixture of awe and longing in her eyes. It made her feel like she was gloating, somehow, so she decided to gently steer the conversation away from herself. "Anyway, enough about me. What about you? What have you been up to?"

Leah rolled her eyes and shrugged, as if she felt she had nothing interesting to contribute. "Oh, you know. I've been tutoring for a few years. Math and science for high school kids, bleurgh. Not much else, really." Her tone was flat. She didn't seem keen to go into much detail about her own life. Rachel was a tiny bit surprised. She remembered Leah being an ambitious young girl who was great at basketball and determined to get a scholarship to college and become a medical biologist. Or was it a microbiologist? Some sort of scientist.

Obviously, something had changed her mind, but Leah didn't seem to want to talk about it. Or about Sam. Or about anything to do with herself, really. Rachel had to respect her friend's wishes. After being estranged for so long, she didn't really feel like she had the right to dig too deep. The rest of the afternoon was spent chatting about their families and mutual friends and reminiscing about their childhood escapades. They parted ways after making a date to hang out again at the beach next weekend, which, in hindsight, Rachel thought might have been a bad idea. She was glad to have met up with her old friend again, but she suspected that they might have already run out of things to talk about.

As she made her way home, Rachel wondered, for the first time since she arrived, just how long she'd be able to last back in this place. So much had changed. So little of what it used to be still remained. It was still home. It was still where she wanted to be. But she wasn't entirely sure if home still wanted her. Not anymore.

The following week, she would start her new job as a social worker at the hospital. She only had just over a year's worth of proper work experience, but she was keen to learn and confident that she was more than capable. The truth was that she was looking forward to finally being able to support her aging father, who had sacrificed so much for her over the years, including his own happiness by letting her go. Every time her determination wavered, all she had to do was look at Billy and her decision to stay was reaffirmed. She not only wanted to make him proud; she wanted to make him happy.

: : : : :

Paul was not happy. Not that he was ever truly happy; he wasn't sure he even knew what happiness was supposed to feel like. But over the last few days, he had been positively miserable, for no obvious reason. It wasn't as if anything had changed. His daily routine was as it always was, an uninspiring balance of work and work. He was still only getting four hours of sleep on most nights, five if he was lucky. The chipper thoughts of lovestruck wolves still annoyed the crap out of him. Actually, pretty much everything annoyed the crap out of him. That was hardly abnormal.

But lately there was a nagging feeling that he just couldn't quite shake off. It curled around his frustrated thoughts. It ate away at the little peace that he had. It followed him everywhere; it was there, always, tugging incessantly at his chest whether he was out running or in sleeping, or trying to lose himself in the throes of a one night stand. At the back of his mind, he knew to dread what was imminent, but at the forefront he had erected a wall of denial. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but it would surely pass. It just had to.

It did not.

As the seconds and minutes and hours ticked by, Paul began to lose track of time. He could hardly tell when the day ended and the night began. His entire world was closing in on him, leaving him desperate for air. But he did not know where to find it, this air, this substance that he needed to sustain life. It was sucking everything out of him, bit by bit, and it was driving him crazy. He wanted it to stop. He needed it to stop. But he knew that to make it happen, he would have to sacrifice the little of himself that he still possessed, and he was not ready to do that.

In a feeble attempt to avoid having to face the soul-sucking alternative that he was dreading, Paul made it a point to keep his eyes lowered as much as possible. He assumed that if he didn't look, he wouldn't see, and ignorance was bliss. Well, maybe not. This desperate need to fill the growing hole in his chest was not bliss. But it was far better than the torture he would have to endure otherwise, of that he was certain.

Nevertheless, it was going to happen. Whether he liked it or not, he could feel it looming over his head like a dark cloud ushering in a storm. His final nightmare was fast approaching.

It was on a Thursday evening as he drove into town to run some errands that it struck him again. He was perfectly fine until a white car drove past him heading in the other direction, causing him to turn his head for reasons he could not explain. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but that oddly familiar scent was suddenly permeating the air once again, launching a brutal assault on his senses when he was least expecting it. He couldn't concentrate on anything else, didn't know anything else, and it was crazy because he fucking hated peppermint.

Paul felt his mind descend into a swirl of haze as he veered off to the side of the road as if intoxicated. The car collided with a tree. The engine sputtered and died. And the angry young man let out a howl of rage as he slammed his fists against the steering wheel, splitting it in half.

Completely oblivious to what had just happened behind her, the woman in the white sedan thought she felt her chest constrict, but only for the most fleeting of moments. She shook her head, certain that she must have imagined it.


	3. She is Fate

**CHAPTER THREE**

"_Human reason needs only to will more strongly than fate, and she is fate." – Thomas Mann_

* * *

It was a dismal day. In other words, not exactly the best of days for a beach outing. The sky was spitting, the wind biting, and the waters were crashing in at high tide. The girls decided to put off their Saturdate until the weather was kinder. It was a sensible call on Leah's part. Sure, Rachel agreed. But after spending a whole half hour listlessly pottering around the house to the blaring beat of Jacob's favourite rock station, she decided to go ahead on her own anyway. She figured she could use some alone time to clear her head, and where better to be alone than out in the middle of the pouring rain while everyone else was huddled up inside?

Rain or shine, Rachel adored the beach. It brought back fond childhood memories of running along the shoreline searching for sea glass, which she and Rebecca and her mother would later use in art projects. She recalled Sunday mornings barefoot on sand, and Sunday afternoons sprawled out across the living room floor, playing with glass and glue for hours on end. It was always the same. Something would eventually begin to take shape, they would turn it into a gift for Billy, and Billy would proudly declare it the best gift he had ever received. Of course. It warmed Rachel's heart to see that many of those best gifts still decorated their home today.

By the time she arrived at her favourite spot, the shower was already beginning to morph into a storm. The dark grey clouds above warned of the torrential downpour to come. She knew that she ought to turn back and head home at this point. Her father would worry, she thought. She was just about to leave when she spotted a small, bluish piece of sea glass tucked amongst a bed of rock and shell. She bent over to pick it up and rolled it in her hand, savouring the way it felt, smooth against her skin. Just a little longer, she told herself as the mounting breeze wrapped itself around her shoulders.

This was nice.

It had been a more-or-less satisfying week for Rachel, albeit a long one. She was still trying to settle in and find her bearings at the hospital. Thankfully, her colleagues were helpful and she wasn't stupid. She knew that she would have things figured out soon enough, and before long she would be able to get down to the real crux of her job. It was an exciting prospect, one that represented so many things to her: building up her career, starting a fresh chapter, embarking on the next leg of her journey through life. It was sappy, she acknowledged with a crinkle of her nose, but it wasn't a crime to want more, and it certainly wasn't a crime to work hard for more.

Still, there were elements of what she had before coming home that, in wistful moments spent reminiscing, made her wish that she had stayed in Seattle. She missed a lot of things about it. She missed the hustle and bustle. She missed the lively atmosphere. She missed the delicious smells wafting out of eateries and the round-the-clock convenience of 24-hour shops.

This was not to say that she really regretted her return to the fresh air and easy pace of rural living.

There was, however, one thing in particular that she honestly did miss with all her heart. She missed the people. She missed the people that she had left behind, individuals who had each played an integral role in her coming of age. Her roommates, Caroline and Jen. Her boyfriend-turned-best friend, Tim Parker. Peter, her favourite barista. Javier, her gay buddy from yoga class. Even her sweet elderly neighbour Mrs. Langdon and her four diabolical cats. Whenever she was met with another suspicious look in town, it made her miss them all the more.

Okay, maybe not the four diabolical cats.

Somehow, Rachel still didn't feel as welcome here as she thought she would. She was positive that just about everyone was holding back – the question was, why? Had she unwittingly left a multitude of rumours behind for them to spend the last six years picking apart? She wasn't sure, but she had to wonder. Her father and brother divulged nothing. They acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, when clearly the opposite was true. Although she had yet to say as much, Rachel found it a tiny bit insulting to her powers of observation. Did they really think she didn't notice that they, too, were behaving strangely? Billy, whispering away on secret phone calls. Jacob, sneaking out at odd hours. The both of them, glossing over every single one of her questions.

The more she thought about it, the more questions she had, and the more questions she had, the more answers eluded her. It was frustrating, to say the least. And it made her worried too, because if they were so bloody intent on keeping something a secret from her, perhaps it wasn't something that she really wanted to know. Nevertheless, she believed that if it was affecting the way people were acting around her, and thus affecting her comfort, then, whatever it was, she had a right to know. And she felt fairly confident that, eventually, they would have to let something slip. Eventually, someone would have to crack. Whatever secrets they were harbouring would eventually come to light. Surely.

All she had to do was be patient and stick it out.

As Rachel told herself this, the storm began to really take over. Unfazed, she stood in the middle of it, letting the water soak through her cotton hoodie, drenching her right down to the bone. It inspired a strangely exquisite feeling of calm in her. It broke her gloomy train of thought, drawing her out before she had a chance to lose herself in it. She tilted her head up to the sky, letting the cool shower strike the surface of her cheeks. It felt good, she mused. Relaxing, even. Still clutching the little piece of sea glass in her hand, she smiled up at the clouds, giving thanks to Nature for giving her just what she needed, exactly when she needed it, blissfully unaware of what else it had in store for her that day.

: : : : :

He didn't have work. He didn't have patrol duty. He didn't even have errands to run. This only happened on rare occasions when the planets and stars were aligned something funky. For once, Paul actually had a free day and damn it, he could've spent it at home, catching up on months' worth of lost sleep. But instead, he was out running, racing through the dense forest at record speed, by far surpassing his personal best. He wasn't really sure what he was doing or where he was going with this. He just knew that he needed to let off steam, to burn off this blazing desire that his wolf had to locate his mate. Paul weaved in and out through the maze of trees, determined to somehow overcome the drag or run into oblivion trying.

Above the forest canopy, a storm was brewing: a perfect reflection of the turmoil wracking his insides.

Ever since it started, Paul had been making a conscious effort to hide as much as he possibly could from the others. They of course knew that something was up – no one spewed out long lists of US states and capitals and presidents into the pack mind just for the sake of it. They just didn't know what the something was. He was dead sure that if they knew, they would try to convince him to give in. He could almost hear those saps telling him that it would make him happy. Happy, the way Jared was with Kim, the way Sam was with Emily, the way Quil was with Claire.

Well, screw that shit. None of it was real. Jared had never given the awkward four-eyed klutz a second glance before it happened, Sam had been looking forward to marrying his high school sweetheart for ages, and seriously, which self-respecting teenage boy would willingly sacrifice his social life to play nanny to a screaming monster in diapers? Not one of them would have chosen this path for themselves. Paul didn't know much about happiness, but he was pretty sure that this wasn't the way it was supposed to work. And if it was, then he wanted absolutely no part in it.

Unfortunately, so far, his plan to outrun his own stifling impulses just wasn't working. If anything, it seemed to be getting worse. Much worse, as a matter of fact. By the time he realised what was happening, it was too late. He thought he had been running away from something. But instead, he had been running towards it all this time. Shit. The fucking wolf had tricked him. The more he ran, the stronger the pull, as if there was something at the other end, or someone, reeling him in with invisible cables. He should have recognised this sooner. He should have paid closer attention. He should have turned back when he had the chance. He should have –

_Fuck_.

Paul skidded to a halt as his paws came into contact with the sandy floor of the beach. The rain was pelting down on him now that he was out of the shelter of the woods, but he barely noticed it because, for the first time, Paul laid eyes on the source of the torment that he had been suffering over the last few weeks. She had her back to him, but there was no doubt in his mind that this was her; she was his siren. A fucked up combination of peppermint mixed with sea salt washed over his senses. The wolf rejoiced, prompting in him the desire to strangle it and leave it for the leeches. He didn't want this. He had never wanted this. All he wanted to do right now was turn and run. Turn and run. Just turn, and then run.

Run.

Come on, run.

_Fuck_.

He couldn't.

Because she was right there. She was right there, standing in the middle of the rain, facing the sea, wearing a fucking hoodie. She was going to die of pneumonia. It was no secret to anyone that Paul was an asshole. Everyone in the pack knew that. Everyone on the reservation knew that. But he wasn't heartless or uncaring by any means, even though that was what he liked to let people believe. If you seemed to care less, people would come around less. Fewer ties meant fewer problems. This tie posed a huge problem. He hated his treacherous heart for not being as big of an asshole as he was. He hated it for making him feel a touch of concern. He hated it for keeping him from just letting her get herself sick – Lord knows she deserved it.

Totally against his will, his lupine body quaked and shook back into human form. Even as he protested each action in his mind, he was already throwing on his shorts and moving forward. His feet started carrying him closer, his eyes trained on her feminine outline through the curtain of rain. He hoped that she would never turn around, so that he would never have to see her face. And yet he wanted her to. No. No, the _wolf_ wanted her to. _He_ didn't. _He_ wanted her to stand there and face the sea forever. Go jump in it, for all he cared. But he did. Fuck it, he did care. Why did he have to care?

The wolf wanted to speak to her, but the words that finally escaped over the wind and waves were all Paul's. "Are you fucking crazy?!"

The moment she spun around to look at him was the exact moment when his personal Armageddon truly began. The ache that he had been feeling over the last few weeks intensified in an instant and spread across the expanse of his soul like wildfire. It burned down and obliterated every other bond that had ever been important to him; anything and everything that he may have ever held dear suddenly became small and insignificant now that he was tethered to her. He belonged to her. He was hers.

This bitch who smelled like fucking toothpaste – _he_ was _her_ bitch now.

Lightning bolts of pain, the most excruciating pain that he had ever known, surged through his entire being from the core of his heart to the tips of his extremities as he fought hard against the urge to go to her, and lost.


	4. Rage, Rage

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"_Rage, rage against the dying of the light." – Dylan Thomas_

* * *

"Are you fucking crazy?!"

Rudely shocked out of her reverie, Rachel whipped around to face the owner of the deep, angry voice who had snuck up on her. The peace of the moment was gone, replaced first by confusion, then by annoyance. She saw him moving towards her, a vaguely familiar face, one that she could not quite place. She thought she might have known him once, but time must have changed him, as it had changed most of what she used to know. Whoever he was, though, she was thoroughly unimpressed.

"Excuse me?" She flashed the young man a bewildered look, eyebrow arched incredulously. Perhaps he had mistaken her for someone else. Not that that would for a second excuse the general sense of jackassery radiating off of him.

"I said," he bit out through gritted teeth as he drew closer, "are you fucking crazy?"

Huh. This was a first. In all her travels, she hadn't yet had the experience of being harassed by a crazy foul-mouthed stranger. She would never have guessed that home would end up being the place to check that off her list. The people around here had gotten strange, but this guy took the cake. "What the hell is your problem?" she demanded, taking a step towards him, feeling more pissed off than she was afraid, though she knew full well that she ought to be afraid; good guys didn't do shit like this.

"What the hell is _yours_?" he shot back, waving his hand over her in disgust as if her very existence repulsed him. He came to a halt directly in front of Rachel, hovering over her, tall, large, and imposing.

Really? He marched over picking a fight and she was the one with the problem?

The man's eyes captured hers in a hard, stony glare that silenced her for just a moment. Just a moment, but it was a painfully long one. Rachel didn't know what to make of it, this peculiar feeling of looking into a stranger's eyes and swearing she could see right through them, into his soul, and being almost certain that he could see into hers too. She was almost drawn to his anger, in a deeply unsettling way. It made her uncomfortable and she was more than tempted to blink and look away, but she didn't. She held his gaze without so much as flinching; she refused to let this creep intimidate her.

"I think you're confused," she said to him bluntly, still having to raise her voice, both to counter the noise around them and match the tension between them. "You're the one who's fucking crazy."

He bristled, all six-foot-something of him trembling where he stood, his bare feet digging into the sand. He really was crazy, she thought. And maybe he was right – maybe she was too, or she wouldn't still be standing here. "What do you think you're doing out here in the middle of a fucking storm?" he snapped as he brought his face within inches of hers. She would probably have felt the spray of his spit if not for the fact that she was already drenched from head to toe.

Rachel knew that continuing to provoke this huge, possibly psychotic and potentially criminal half-naked stranger was not the best of ideas. There was not a doubt in her mind that this man could easily overpower her in an instant. But she couldn't help it; his rage fuelled hers. Something about him grated at her nerves like nails on a chalkboard, filling her with an inexplicable craving to put him in his place. She narrowed her eyes dangerously – partly because the rainwater stung, but mostly for his benefit. "How is that any of your business?"

: : : : :

She had no idea how much Paul wished it wasn't his business. But it was. It was every bit his business now. He had to know, even if he didn't want to. He had to care, even if he hated her. He had to look out for her, even if all he wanted to do was to look the other way.

It didn't stop him from trying to fight her, but the wolf tightened its grasp on him, choking him until he relented, forcing the concern out of him. Still, this was Paul and, true to form, it came out as harshly as one could expect coming from him. Even the wolf had to concede that this was probably as kind as it was ever going to get him to be. "You're going to die out here," he growled, his voice rumbling from a place deep inside his chest.

For the first time since he stormed up to her, he saw a flicker of alarm cross over her eyes as she mistook his words for a threat. Her face blanched visibly at his words, and he relished the moment. He would never hurt a woman, and it was probably physically impossible for him to hurt this one. But he liked seeing that he could get under her skin. Once he was done savouring he impact that he had had on her, he went on, "Do you _want_ to get sick?"

He had a heart. He just didn't like being told how to use it.

Paul reached out and grabbed her by the elbow, tugging at it forcibly. A tiny flash of blue fell from her hand as she reeled backwards, but his grip on her remained firm. He heard the way her heart missed an entire beat before proceeding to pound like a drum in his ears. At first he thought that it was out of fear, but it wasn't fear that he saw on her face now.

It was fire.

And it was a fire that easily rivalled his.

She hit him square in the chest with her puny little fist. Stupid woman. Her fingers splayed wide for a second before she cradled her hand flush against her side, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. The stab of guilt that pierced Paul in the heart at the thought of her possibly having broken her hand was momentarily overshadowed by the rush of pleasure that he felt upon seeing her face contort in pain. Served the little bitch right. He smirked, earning a swift kick in the gut from the wolf, who was horrified at what had just transpired. Paul fumed inwardly at the wolf, and outwardly at her. He didn't like it, but he had to get her to shelter. Offering neither an apology nor an explanation, he yanked at her elbow again, not as roughly as he would've liked nor as gently as his wolf would've preferred.

Of course, she would have none of it.

Of course, she had to resist.

Of course, the spirits just had to go and send him a feisty one.

She snarled at him, her brown eyes blazing, her tone deadly, "Get your filthy hands off of me."

To both his surprise and hers, he did. He had no other option. He felt the fire in her order burn through him, from the tips of his fingers all the way up to his brain and back, until he had no choice but to let her go. She clearly didn't understand the significance of what she had just done, but Paul did. The little control that he had left had been relinquished over to her under the overriding power of the imprint. He was the tribe's, the alpha's, the wolf's, and now, he was hers too. Whether he liked it or not, from now on, he was going to have to submit to her will. This unholy burden was going to change him, the way it had changed his friends. It was going to eat him alive and spit out the bones, consume him little by little until he had nothing left to give. It was going to devour his spirit and soul and leave behind a shell of a man, the shell of half the man that he still was.

He was silent as he stood there, chest heaving up and down as he struggled against the urge to explode out of his skin. He couldn't let himself harm her the way Sam had injured Emily in a fit of rage. He refused to help strengthen the already magnetic hold that she had on him by adding guilt to the mix. As she stared at him in shock, he wondered if she could see the agony that he was feeling inside. Probably not. She had no idea that she was suffocating him. She had no idea of the power that she had over him.

She had no idea.

"Get out of the fucking rain," he muttered gruffly at last. His arms hung uselessly, fists clenched tightly at his sides. She opened her mouth to speak, no doubt intending to carry on arguing. He just needed her to be safe, to be healthy, to be okay. He needed her to stay alive, so that he could continue to exist. Why couldn't she just do that much for him? Anger raged inside of him, burning white-hot in its iron dungeon, unable to escape while her vulnerable form still stood before him. He was desperate to fight, to scream, to shove, to shake– but he couldn't. Instead, all Paul could do was beg, "Please."

And it broke him, having to utter that single word.

Perhaps she saw this. Perhaps she sensed this. Perhaps she'd just had enough. He couldn't be sure. But she did turn around and leave.

He stood there, a hollow look clouding his eye as he watched her go, and long after the rain had washed away her footprints, he was still there, staring at the empty spot that she had left behind. A speck of blue shimmered in the sand, catching his eye. He picked up the small, smooth object, turning it over and over between his fingers, examining it like it mattered.

Paul never begged. Not for anything. Not since the child from once upon a time pleaded with his mother to stay, to love him enough to stay. She did not love him enough. She did not stay. And a hardened young Paul grew up swearing that he would never again beg for anything in his life. Ever.

As the storm began to subside and the waters recede, the ghosts of his long-ago yesterdays whispered in his ear, fanning the flickering embers that remained of his rage. He was broken, but not dead. Until the day that he was, it was not over. He would fight, even if he was bound to lose. And he would continue to fight, until the fight in him was gone.

It was with these thoughts in mind that Paul left the beach that evening. Nursing his fractured identity, the young man made his way home, a cool piece of sea glass pressed into the heat of his palm as he disappeared back into the shadows of the shady forest path that had led him to her.


	5. Resistance

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"_Resistance by definition is self-sabotage." – Steven Pressfield_

* * *

The moment he said please, Rachel couldn't bring herself to say no. The despair in his tone somehow made it impossible for her to deny him, despite the fact that she so wanted to do it just to spite him. It was the eyes that made it hard for her, rattling her with confusion. There was a stark contrast between those eyes and the rest of him. They haunted her all the way home, and for a long time thereafter, they would visit her dreams at night, speaking to her in a way that the man himself could never bring himself to do.

In retrospect, after deconstructing and piecing back together everything he had said and yelled and finally pleaded, she realised that it seemed to all have been a flimsy attempt at something akin to kindness. Don't get yourself sick by getting wet in the rain – that was basically what he had been trying to say. Maybe. Unfortunately, his message had been lost beneath layers of colourful language, and his intentions even more so.

Her opinion still stood. It was none of his business.

Immediately upon arriving home looking like a lost wet dog, she was ushered down the hallway by her father, who directed her towards the bathroom so that she could get cleaned, get dressed, and get warm. She stepped into the shower, still mulling over the strange encounter even as she washed off sand and salt. It fascinated her for reasons that she couldn't explain, and her fascination disturbed her. He was crazy. That was it. What more could there possibly be? She wasn't sure, but it felt like her gut was trying desperately to tell her something that her mind just couldn't understand.

Once dry and clothed again, Rachel headed back outside to join her father. She found him sitting at the dining table, waiting for her with a steaming mug of tea, which he pushed over to her as she lowered herself down into a chair. She smiled, murmuring her thanks. Billy watched his daughter wrap her slender fingers around the porcelain cup, letting the warmth chase away the chill in her bones. "You were out there for quite a while," he commented quietly, his concern more than evident.

Rachel shrugged. "Sorry. Stuff happened."

"Stuff?"

"Some… guy on the beach," she mumbled, waving her hand dismissively. It wasn't important. It was weird, but it wasn't important. There were much better things to spend their Saturday evening talking about. Billy gave her a curious look, indicating that her feeble answer wasn't good enough for him. She sighed, refraining from bringing up all the barely-there answers that he had been giving her lately.

"What guy on the beach?"

Rachel looked up at the sound of her younger brother's voice only to find him sauntering into the kitchen, flashing her a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. She rolled her eyes at him, though she couldn't hold back the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. Jacob was different these days. He often looked tired, his broad shoulders slumped as if weighed down by a burden that she could not see. He was still cheerful and never without a joke up his sleeve, but sometimes, in the midst of conversation, he would just slip away, into a place that only he knew. No matter how much Rachel pestered him, he refused to acknowledge it. But ignoring the problem didn't make it go away, and it just made her cherish these moments of levity that much more.

"Big half-naked weirdo," she replied, scrunching up her nose in distaste. "Quileute, definitely. Kept swearing. Wouldn't stop looking at me funny." Billy and Jacob exchanged a look then that made her feel uneasy. It was as if they knew something that she didn't. Of course, she was already aware of that – they knew heaps more than they were sharing. But they also seemed to have a secret opinion about her beach encounter, which she hadn't exactly been expecting. "Is there a crazy guy running around the reservation that I should maybe know about?"

At that, both men laughed it off, but Rachel didn't miss their moment of hesitation. And there was that look again. It looked like concern, yet they didn't seem at all keen to pursue the matter. A long period of awkward silence ensued as Jacob busied himself with a cookie he found in the pantry. It ended with Rachel asking them what they wanted for dinner, which thankfully dissolved into playful banter that ultimately led to them calling it a lazy night, i.e. pizza night. By the time the food arrived, the big half-naked weirdo was all but forgotten.

Several hours after dinner, Billy and Rachel were still in the kitchen chatting. Jacob had excused himself early, claiming he had a school project to work on – his sister was only half-convinced that this was true. As soon as he was out of earshot, she expressed her worry to their father. He simply nodded in response. "Your little brother's growing up, Rach," he sighed, staring at the doorway through which Jacob had just ducked out.

"Has he been… getting into trouble… at all?" It was a possibility that had been nagging Rachel ever since she came home to find him all beefed up and sneaky. She didn't want him mixing with the wrong crowd. She was afraid that, if they weren't careful, he would fall into the wrong path and jeopardise his future. She had already gone through that roller coaster with Rebecca, and she didn't fancy a second ride.

"No," Billy answered her, smiling calmly as if completely certain of what he was saying. But he offered no explanation as to why. "Not at all. Trust me, Jake's a good kid."

Rachel knew that. Of course he was a good kid. But good kids were still more than capable of making mistakes. She was determined to keep her brother from making them, or at least prevent him from making more. Her father was hiding something still – that much was obvious. "Okay Dad, I'll let you have this round. But just you wait… one of you is gonna slip up," she murmured in a sing-song voice as she leaned back in her chair.

"Slip up?"

"Yup," Rachel replied confidently, clasping both hands behind her head as she grinned at her amused father. "I'm going to make you. Sooner or later, one of you is going let your guard down and spill whatever secret it is that you're hiding from me. It's just a matter of time."

"Is that so?" If there was indeed a secret, the look on Billy's face hardly betrayed it. It didn't surprise Rachel. Her father was an excellent poker player. But so was she, and she was positive that if she reached for his hands now, she would come into contact with a pair of sweaty palms.

"It is." Rachel flashed him a devious grin. "It is so."

Billy laughed good-naturedly, his crow's feet making an appearance at the corners of his twinkling eyes. It was a sound that Rachel loved, one that she had missed dearly during her time away. It reminded her of good times growing up, of memories in which all five of them were happy. In her mind, she saw her father laughing with Sarah, just like that, as they watched her and her siblings get up to their mischievous antics. And when he thought the kids weren't looking, she would catch him stealing a quick kiss from his wife before turning back to them with a mock reproach. How she wished she could relive those beautiful moments, knowing how precious they were now.

"You look so much like her when you smile like that," her father commented lightly, as if he had been following her train of thought.

"Like Bex?" she teased him, referring to her identical twin. "So I've been told."

"Like your mother." It had been years since her passing, but time hadn't dulled his grief. He still loved her as much as he did on the day he asked her to be his wife. For Rachel, this had always been her model for love; her father's enduring devotion had set the bar for what true love ought to be like in her books. Billy's tone was soft, affectionate, and somewhat faraway as he spoke of the woman whom he had lost to tragedy. "She would have been incredibly proud of you, you know that?"

Rachel thought about her mother and the many conversations they had had, the secrets they had shared, the moments they had spent together – precious moments that now lived in the distant past. Sarah Black had been a kind, loving woman, who, with a happy heart, had lived a happy life. But in every life, there is a road that was not taken, and even her husband knew that she had often pondered over the _what ifs _that could have been. Rachel remembered her telling her about all her dreams that never came to fruition, and she smiled, because there was no doubt in her mind that her father was right. Sarah would have been proud.

"Yeah. Yeah, Dad, I know."

And she intended to keep it that way, no matter what the future threw at her.

They sat in companionable silence for a while until Billy finally decided that it was his bed time. Rachel watched her father wheel himself out of the kitchen, bringing with him the weight of his memories. There was a time when she might have cried seeing how sad those memories made him. But like her mother had taught her, you couldn't be sad without once being happy. All that he had lost, he had once possessed, and knowing this offered Rachel some consolation. Today, she could only look at him with awe, amazed at how strong he was and how tough he continued to be.

"So Dad…" she called out after a moment. As much as she adored and respected her father, she was not above taking advantage of his distractedness to try to catch him unawares. She turned her head slightly to peer at him over her shoulder.

He paused, glancing over his. "Yeah, Rach?"

"_Is_ there a crazy guy running around the reservation that I should know about?"

Billy merely chuckled as he disappeared down the hallway. "Good night, sweetheart."

Rachel smiled to herself, shaking her head. It didn't work, but it was well worth a shot. She figured now that if he wasn't that worried, then she probably had no reason to be either. She decided to put the incident out of her mind and focus on things that truly mattered, her family and her job in particular. It seemed like a perfectly logical and feasible idea in theory, but it would later turn out to be a lot more difficult than she expected, because no matter where she went or what she did in the days that followed, the heat of those dark, brooding eyes never ceased to haunt her.

: : : : :

She was all that Paul could think about, this woman whom he did not know. All he could see was her. Her eyes as they burned, bright and blazing. Her lips as she snarled like an agitated cat. That face, so pretty in her anger, and so unlike any girl he had ever pursued. He was loath to admit that she was beautiful, and that every part of her sung to him. He needed her, in a way that he had never needed anything. The imprint plagued him like a demon, digging its merciless claws into every facet of his being until it left him feeling powerless.

Yet it did not stop him from trying. Every time he was tortured with the thought of her, he fought back and fought back hard, resisting the urge to go to her, to find her, to throw himself at her feet and swear his life to her. The desire was all-consuming.

But it wasn't him. And he refused to give himself to her, because it was all he had.

The hours that passed felt like days. Being close to her had been agony. Being away from her was hell. He carried these thoughts with him as he took on the form of the wolf late in the night, joining Sam and Jacob on patrol. This time, he didn't bother masking his thoughts. It was done. The bond was formed. He could no longer hide from the truth, nor could he hide this truth from the others. As soon as he entered the pack mind, they saw her face and felt his pain, and they knew.

It was Jacob who spoke first, his protests coming through in a whine. _No. Damn it, Paul, not my sister!_

Too caught up in the turbulence of his emotions, Paul hadn't realised it before. But he saw it now, in retrospect. He recalled the first moment his subconscious had tried to alert him to her presence, close to the Black home. He noted the resemblance in their features, which he hadn't noticed until this moment. And deep in the recesses of his mind, he found memories, vague and fuzzy, of two little girls annoying the shit out of him in the sandbox.

Two little girls. There were two of them. Fuck if he had to imprint on them both.

Jacob growled menacingly, causing their alpha to leap in, _I don't think it works that way, Paul. They're twins, not clones._

That hardly made the younger wolf feel any better. He still didn't want this. He still hated being bound to her. He still hated her.

_She didn't ask for this, _he heard Sam tell him, trying to make him see reason.

Reason. Paul scoffed. There was no such thing as reason in this fucked up supernatural world that they lived in. _Neither did I, _he snapped back, knowing that his attitude would soon get him into trouble with the pack leader.

So far, the alpha was being surprisingly patient, reacting calmly as Jacob fumed in his little corner of the woods. _Denying the bond isn't going to help either of you, _Sam went on, ignoring Jacob's hissy fit. _I know. I tried, remember? _Images of his broken-hearted sweetheart mingled with that of his marred and mutilated imprint. They filtered across into Paul's mind, causing the younger wolf to falter. The thought of ever causing such pain to his own imprint filled him with unspeakable terror. _It will only serve to hurt the both of you. Learn from my mistake, Paul. _

Paul knew that it killed Sam to call his loyalty to Leah a mistake. He thought it was majorly screwed up. How could the imprint be a good thing, when it had forced a perfectly good man to unlove the woman he'd promised to marry? What Sam had with Emily seemed like a fanciful illusion, an insult to the relationship that he had once shared with his first love.

Those thoughts caused Sam to lose some of his cool. He would let no one speak of his Emily that way. Now that it threatened to shield his eyes too, Paul understood how this magical blindfold worked, and that was exactly his point. Sam was so smitten by Emily that he truly believed that she could do no wrong. But to be flawed was to be human; it was all a part of being real. And this – this wasn't real.

_It _is_ real, _Sam insisted, offended by the very notion of his love for Emily being anything less than what he believed it to be. _She's your destiny._

_She's a curse._

_No, she's not. You were made for each other._

_I was made for no one._

_You were made for her. You're _meant_ for her._

_No. No fucking way._

_This is not a choice, Paul._

_It should be! _Paul raged stubbornly, baring his sharp, ivory teeth at the shadows around him. His claws dug into the dirt beneath his paws as he was overcome with a primal need to attack someone, something. Anyone, anything. _It damn well should be, Sam. I don't care what you or the elders or the legends say. This isn't right. This isn't fair on either of us. She has every right to choose, and so do I. _

To that, Sam had nothing to say. Even he could not deny this. They did have every right to choose, or at least they should. Unfortunately, that right had been stolen from them the minute the Cold Ones returned and encroached upon their land. They had all given up everything for the pack and for their people. Paul had never asked for anything in return for being a slave to his fate. All he wanted now was this one thing: the freedom to choose who to love, and not love. It was not an unreasonable ask, but it was an unfulfillable one. Sam could only watch helplessly as his brother struggled to resist the power of the imprint, doing himself a grim disservice in the process. No matter how much Paul lamented, there was no undoing what had already been done. No one had ever broken this bond of steel, and no one ever would.

But to his credit, no one who had ever tried had ever had Paul's willpower.

Or his bullheadedness.


	6. Temptation is an Irresistible Force

**_A/N: Hi all! Sorry it has been a while since the last chapter, but here is the latest one. _****_I enjoyed writing this, and hope that you'll enjoy reading it even half as much. _**Anyway, just wanted to leave a quick note here to say thank you to everyone who has been supporting this story, including the lovely person who left kind words as a guest. I truly appreciate all forms of feedback. Please feel free to PM me with any questions or critiques, or even if you just want to say hello. My ap**__****_ologies in advance for any imperfections you may find - I do try my best to present to you only what I am satisfied with! Have a nice_** day :) -Chrys

**CHAPTER SIX**

"_Temptation is an irresistible force at work on a movable body." – Henry Louis Mencken_

* * *

Rachel. Her name was Rachel. He repeated it over and over in his head, so that all the other wolves could hear when they were out with him was his mantra: _Rachel, Rachel, Rachel, fuck, damn it, Rachel, Rachel_. He adored it and hated it at the same time. It was both the ugliest, most disgusting name he had ever heard, and the most beautiful, befitting name for someone so precious. He detested the very sound of it, yet he loved how sweet it tasted as it rolled off his tongue when he said it out loud.

What the fuck? He loved how sweet it tasted as it rolled off his tongue? What the hell was wrong with him?

No. No, he didn't. Shit. He didn't, he didn't.

Did he?

Shit.

The others kept trying to convince him to go talk to her about this, but Paul refused. Breaking it to her would mean having to acknowledge that this was happening to him, and he couldn't. He couldn't accept this reality; he didn't want to. And so he chose to embrace the mental torture instead, subjecting his brothers to the same agony. It was hurting the pack and frustrating them deeply, especially Jacob, who hated that it had to be Paul, of all people, who had to go and imprint on his sister. Paul made it a point to remind the little shit that he felt exactly same way – he hated that it had to be Jacob's sister, of all people, whom he had to go and imprint on.

As the days melded into a blur, Paul found himself becoming more and more uncertain of where the lines were between his own thoughts and those that were being forced on him. They began to merge, false feelings fusing with genuine ones, slowly sculpting an identity that he hardly recognised as his own. Sometimes he caught himself thinking about how much he loved her. He thought about it with so much conviction that he started to doubt everything he believed, repeatedly having to question what was real and what wasn't. He didn't even know her, so he couldn't possibly love her, right? He didn't love her. He didn't.

Did he?

He held on desperately to his vow to fight, but it was proving to be a tough challenge when his mind was constantly flooded with images of her. Images from would-be moments in made-up memories, filled with smiles and laughter, when all he really had to draw upon was one venomous argument distorted by the rage of storm and sea. His wolf wouldn't stop pestering him to go and find her, explain things to her, woo her, win her. It wanted him to make real memories – preferably sexy ones, it requested.

And so Paul went and did just that, with someone else. He looked up an old girlfriend who now worked at a gas station in Forks. He didn't love her, of course, but she was at least someone that he had once chosen to like. He wanted to remind himself of what being in control of his desires felt like, and the pretty little thing was more than happy to oblige. He took her out, showered her with sweet talk, and proceeded to fuck her to kingdom come.

But it was useless. If anything, it made things infinitely worse. Every time he tried to focus on her face, he saw Rachel's eyes roll back in bliss. Every time she uttered his name, he heard Rachel's voice screaming it in rapture. And every time he felt her body quake and shudder against his, he imagined that he was claiming Rachel as his own. He left as soon as she fell asleep, feeling anything but sated. Far from what he had anticipated, the night had actually left him feeling weak and vulnerable. It left him needing Rachel more than ever, craving her with a desperation that clawed at every shred of his miserable existence. He needed to see her. He needed to be near her. He needed her.

But what he needed was the last thing in the world that he wanted. It was coming from a place that was beyond his control, a primal centre in the core of his being that ached and longed and knew no reason. It was someone else talking, someone else thinking. He warred with himself over this perceived need. He forced it down, denying it vehemently until it began to take a physical toll on him. It was the closest he had ever come to feeling ill since he first became a wolf. His body was tense and his head throbbed, his pulse pounding in his ears in time with the chanting of her name that wouldn't cease.

_Rachel, Rachel, Rachel._

He couldn't bear it. He tore through the woods, his furry legs moving of their own accord until they finally delivered his lupine form to the vicinity of her house. As soon as he arrived, he inhaled deeply, taking in that disgustingly delicious peppermint scent that he at once needed and despised. It irked him that the mere scent of her now could have such a profound effect on him. It tempted him. It called for him and drew him in, luring him towards it like the song of a siren.

Paul eyed the cabin closely, looking out for any sign of her. But it was the crack of dawn, on a Sunday. She was probably sleeping in. And he was right. He followed his nose until it detected exactly where she was, where her scent was strongest. It had to be her bedroom, he figured as he picked up the sound of her whisper-soft snores. For the first time in days, he was flooded with a sense of relief. It coursed through his body, easing the tension in his muscles and the pounding in his head. He had to consciously remind himself to fight it, to fight her, but it felt so good to be here, finally, basking in the almost-presence of his Rachel. Exhaustion quickly got the better of him, and before long the large grey wolf was fast asleep beneath her window, swaddled up comfortably in the temporary peace that wrapped around him like a warm, plush blanket.

: : : : :

Ever since that Saturday evening, Jacob began acting even more strangely than usual. This increasingly odd behaviour seemed to spread to Billy like an infectious disease. Their hushed conversations grew more frequent, the looks they gave Rachel more unnerving. There was no tangible reason for her to associate any of it with her strange experience at the beach, but she couldn't shake the feeling that the weirdness was somehow related. She just lacked any hard evidence to tie it all together. In fact, she had nothing to go on other than her gut.

So she let them have their secrets and ignored her curiosity as best she could. After all, she had work to keep her occupied. She was loving her job, now that she had truly started interacting with patients at the hospital. Most of what she had been dealing with so far was routine, but what was routine to hospital staff was often overwhelming to their patients, and she was glad to be able to make any little bit of it easier on them. It made her feel good, to have the opportunity to help others through difficult times, even if it was in a small way. It was something that she liked to do, something that was just a part of who she was, this desire to lift people up when they were down, to be a positive light even in times of darkness.

Still, as much as she enjoyed what she did, the weekend was a welcome relief from the long and often odd hours. And it was a chance for her to get some housework done, because, as she had come to realise since her return, the boys hardly put much effort into keeping the place tidy. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink, dirty laundry strewn across the hallway – it was amusing at first, but less so now that she actually had to share their filthy living space. She couldn't live in a sty. After spending most of Saturday cleaning up, she drew up a roster reminiscent of what her mother used to have taped to the kitchen cabinet.

"A roster? I'm not a kid anymore, Rach," Jacob whined when he saw it.

"Exactly. So stop acting like one and take on some responsibility," she chastised him, handing him the trash to take out. Her brother grabbed it from her and headed outside, grumbling something about having a thankless job. Rachel raised an eyebrow, thinking that that statement applied to her more than it did to him, but she said nothing.

"How come I get a column?" Billy asked with a mock pout. "Don't crippled dads get exemptions from doing household chores?"

Rachel snorted before leaning over to plant a kiss on her father's cheek. She knew full well that he was perfectly able to do the things on her list. "Nice try with the invalid card, Daddy dearest, but you know I'm not buying that shit."

He shrugged, looking sheepish. "It was worth a shot." But secretly, he was pleased. His daughter was home, and she was restoring order in their lives, now when they needed it most. She didn't know this, but her presence was an indescribable comfort to him at a time when things often seemed grim.

That night, Rachel turned in early, leaving it to the boys to do the tidying up after dinner. As soon as she was in her room, she threw herself down onto the bed, diving face-first into her pillow. It wasn't the wisest move – the pillow really wasn't as soft and cloudlike as she had imagined – but it was nice to have nothing stand between her and a good night's sleep at the end of the day.

And a good night's sleep it was. She slept for what felt like hours and hours and didn't wake till the morning sun found her face. She lazed around in bed for a while longer before finally venturing into the kitchen. It was quiet, so she assumed that the others were still asleep. Armed with a good novel and a steaming cup of coffee, Rachel stepped outside to begin her lazy day, which, unbeknownst to her at the time, was not meant to be. She stood on the porch for a few minutes, her dressing robe drawn close around her body as she enjoyed the lush green scenery that had always been a part of her home.

But as she moved to take a seat in one of the porch chairs, something unexpected caught her eye. She nearly jumped out of her skin, her book and coffee falling to the plank floor in a noisy clatter. Her scream pierced the air before she even realised it had formed in her throat. The creature before her startled awake and scrambled to its feet, ears perked and eyes wide. It was huge. Massive, even. Since when did wolves ever get this big or come this close?

Her heart hammered away against her ribcage, determined to explode out of her chest. She tried to think, but couldn't for the life of her manage to kick her brain into gear. Instead, she grabbed the nearest chair, holding it out in a feeble attempt to protect herself and her family from the giant wolf on her porch. The wolf cocked its head slightly to the side, and if she had been in any frame of mind to notice, she would've seen the look of amusement on its face as she tried to threaten it with the flimsy chunk of wood.

Rachel loved being close to nature, but certainly not this close. In all her years of living on the reservation, she had never had such an encounter with wildlife. She had absolutely no idea what to make of this, of the way this mammoth of a wolf seemed to be studying her, holding her gaze. Frightened as she was, she had to admit that the creature was magnificent. The longer she stared, the more unsettled she felt. It was just standing there, big and tall and still as stone, staring right back at her with hard, glassy eyes. What was it about those eyes? They looked so bright and intelligent, almost human. They seemed oddly familiar to her, yet how could they be, when she had never been this close to a wolf in her life?

The tense moment was broken all of a sudden by a voice coming from behind her, booming, "What the fuck, Paul!" Rachel assumed that she must have heard that wrongly, and she didn't have time to dwell on it as her brother came sprinting over to place himself between her and the oversized animal. For the first time, the wolf crouched, baring its gleaming teeth, sending a fresh wave of fear through her body.

"Jake, oh God, oh God. What do we do?" she asked her brother frantically, still brandishing the chair, not once taking her eyes off of the giant creature in front of them. At the sound of her voice, the wolf gave a soft whimper. Maybe this was their chance to run, lock the doors and hide inside until it went away.

"Go inside, I'll handle this," Jacob said tightly, his voice deep and stern. It felt like an order. Rachel didn't take kindly to orders, especially when they came from her kid brother who was putting himself in harm's way. She wanted to slap him for being so stupid and reckless.

"_Handle_ this? Are you crazy, Jake? This thing– this _monster_ is gonna kill you!"

And then it was as if something snapped in the wolf. It raised itself to its full height, dark eyes shifting back into focus as it once again exposed its white fangs. Before they could even react, it lunged forward, knocking Jacob off his feet and out of its way so that it came face to face with Rachel. She did the first thing that came to mind – she raised the chair up high and brought it down hard over the wolf's head. The wood broke and splintered, but, much to her dismay, the wolf remained unfazed, and she was left unarmed. Almost effortlessly, it pushed her over, pinning her to the ground.

She stopped functioning. She couldn't move. She couldn't blink. She couldn't breathe. She just lay there, frozen as a statue. The wolf hovered over her, bringing its massive face within inches of hers. She felt the huff of its breath against her skin as it growled menacingly, jaws clenched and eyes blazing with a fire that she could almost feel. She was going to die, she was sure of it. It was going to kill her, right here, on her own front porch. She couldn't die. She wasn't ready to die. She especially didn't want it to happen like this, to be eaten alive by a giant wolf. She wanted to live. She was going to live. Damn it, she was going to live.

"You want me?" The wolf growled louder as if it understood her goading words. Rachel snarled back, "Well you're not going to have me."

Without a second thought, she raised her foot and kicked the animal in the belly with all the might she could muster. A howl broke out instantly, but it wasn't his; it was hers. It felt as if she had just smashed her toes into solid stone. Tears escaped the corners of her eyes as the pain exploded in her foot and pulsed up her leg. She tried desperately to ignore the pain and scramble away, because she absolutely refused to die this way. Maybe she wasn't going to live. But she wouldn't let it have her without a fight.

Not a moment later, all hell broke loose around her without the slightest warning. A second wolf appeared out of nowhere, throwing itself at the first and dragging it out onto the lawn. A fierce, violent tussle ensued, bodies tumbling, fur flying, blood splattering. She was surrounded by the sickening sounds of tearing flesh and crunching bone, and it was too horrifying. Rachel was too shocked to fully process the scene in front of her. She just took it as her one opportunity to grab Jacob and run. "Jake, come on–" She looked around in alarm. Her brother was nowhere to be seen. "Jake! Jacob!"

"Rachel, get in here!" came her father's voice from the front door.

"But Jake–"

"He's fine, just hurry up and get in here! Quick!"

Relieved to know that her little brother was okay, Rachel clambered to her feet in a mad rush and quickly hobbled her way inside to save herself. Her heart was going crazy, her body trembling like a leaf. She wanted to vomit. But she was still breathing. She was still alive. She was safe now. As her father spoke to her, she attempted to listen and respond, but she had no idea what he was telling her or what she was saying in return. She struggled to make sense of what had just happened, of what was still happening, but her battered mind refused to comply. It chose instead to protect itself from any further harm by shutting down completely, engulfing her in a shroud of darkness that pulled her down, down, down, until time was lost and the world around her was gone.


End file.
